


Night Falls Early

by Rosehip



Series: Strange Luck [19]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Abominations (Dragon Age), Gen, Ghosts, Healing, Implied/Referenced Torture, Mage (Dragon Age) Rights, Shapeshifting, The Calling (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 02:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: Macsen Surana always knew his good fortune after the blight wouldn't last. The favor of two kings could only paint a target on a hexer's back. He didn't expect the Wardens to send Templars to Vigil's Keep, though. It's obviously time to run, but thanks to old injuries, he literally can't. Fortunately, his friends are nothing like his enemies would expect.Fills Halloween prompts "Ghosts" and also "Under a spell/Curse" (though it's a curse all Wardens know.)
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Warden
Series: Strange Luck [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/519361
Comments: 14
Kudos: 15
Collections: Zevraholics Anonymous October Challenge 2019





	Night Falls Early

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go to [1Mocha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1mocha/pseuds/1mocha) and [AngstofDestiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstOfDestiny/pseuds/AngstOfDestiny) for very fast beta reading.
> 
> And thank YOU for reading this pile of OCs as well. I always appreciate it.

Macsen expected pitchforks. He expected impertinent questions from Chantry representatives. When trouble came, it took an unexpected form- a betrayal from the Wardens, themselves.

Maybe he should have seen it coming. He'd thought that being near the thrones of both Ferelden and Orzammar would be enough for the ambitious First Warden to spare him. But, no. Weisshaupt had sent six templar “Wardens”. Six! If Macsen didn't like it, he was invited to travel to Weisshaupt, instead. It had to be a trap, not just a compromise. Certainly, the Wardens had decided not to antagonize the Chantry, but beyond that, he suspected they wanted to get a good look at him and find out why the curse in his blood hadn't killed him when it should have.  


He had no answers for them, and he'd been questioned without the possibility of an answer too many times in his life already, as his damaged body attested. He could only send them after Morrigan and their son... and Macsen wasn't about to do that.

So, here he sat in an office in town, ostensibly handling affairs of taxes and road maintenance. Distant thunder rumbled outside, and lamps lit the office cheerfully against the premature darkness outside. The black sky did not look like noon. Nathaniel and Oghren sat to either side, signing the pages in front of them. Oghren looked a bit dizzy. Macsen sympathized. His headache had grown worse; the strange ringing in his ears louder. The darkspawn, now distantly deep in the ground, somehow still so very loud. The stress had finally cracked him, he supposed.

Nathaniel cleared his throat a few too many times. It sounded painful.

The balding, bespectacled, human clerk raised his eyebrows. “I do hope you aren't coming down with something, Ser.”

“Excuse me,” replied Nathaniel. “It's the changeable weather. It sometimes irritates my throat. I don't suppose you have any tea?”

“Oh, certainly, Ser. Just go ahead and keep checking over those and see if I need to correct anything. I'll need to heat the water, so it'll be a moment. I think my apprentice didn't finish all the honey...” and with that, the man bustled out into the corridor.

Macsen stood up and sauntered over to the solitary window. Someone kept the casement in good repair. It shouldn't squeak. A good thing, since one of the new Wardens lounged around outside on the street a floor below. The man didn't have the rank to accompany them to this meeting, but wouldn't be shoved away. Macsen scowled. They really weren't even pretending he had any authority over them.

He waved silently to his friends, eased the window open just far enough... and flew out, right over the lurker's head.

As a pigeon, of course. Morrigan had mocked him for yet another humble choice, but nobody thought a little brownish pigeon with a wobble in its flight was the Hero of Ferelden.

That wobble needed seeing to.

He flew over the strong city wall to the smaller fences of the alienage. He kept out of sight, landing in branches and on rooftops to rest. Wobbly pigeons had problems of their own, with hungry elves and cats alike. It took too long to get to the windowsill of the cottage he wanted. Who knew how much time he really had? He flopped down with a hard flutter, exhausted. It didn't used to be so very hard.

The tiny stone cottage leaned against the boundary of the alienage like a tired, old horse. It would be easy to overlook it, if one didn't know it was there. Two pear trees and an elaborate chicken coop almost hid it entirely.

Macsen looked inside. An open book lay on the worktable, and the brown-skinned, red-haired, elven woman in a dark green dress checked something cooking over the fire. Macsen called at her, and it came out a soft coo.

She looked up. “Hey, little pest. I don't have anything for you unless pigeons eat carrots and beans.” It was Nisha, herself. He knew it from her voice. It might have been otherwise, given that she shared her body with a ghost and a spirit.

Macsen hopped in and bumbled across the uneven floorboards until he was out of the view of the outside world.

“Oh, dammit, Macsen! Why don't you use the door like a normal person?”

Macsen shifted back, the magic running down his body like cool water. Nisha came over and hugged him when it finished.

“I had to sneak out,” he said into her fluffy ringlets. “You've seen the new 'Wardens'?”

She backed up and looked him in the face, her eyes wide. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah, I haven't been able to get out of their sight for much of anything. They're _always_ there. Velanna ran as soon as they arrived. Sigrun went with her, if you can believe it. They have eyes on Anders, too, but I don't know what to do about that. Nathaniel, Oghren, and I went to handle some business none of them are ranked enough to be there for, and I slipped out.”

“It's time to go, huh?”

He shivered. “Yes. Maybe for you, too. Between these guys and the Chantry in town, that's a lot of templars. I've passed my title to Nathaniel, and made Oghren a Captain. If the darkspawn come back, things will be handled. But I can't stay.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You're ready to travel. You've got your weapons... oh no, you're not leaving Fang!”

“I have to! Oghren's taking him for now, and I'll send for him when I can. Scent of Rain's nearby. We'll go together.”

“All right. What's to do? You're not here just to say goodbye.” She put hands to hips and looked ready to do battle. The red vallaslin of Sylaise across her features almost pulsed as she drew her brows together in a frown.

“I'm not. I was hoping... we'd talked about it before, that Silvie might be able to help with my joints. She was working on some ideas. If they're after me, I can't just hire a carriage. I can't run safely like this. It would be just my luck to be shot by a hunter taking mercy on a wounded animal.”

“Yeah, she said so. That's a 'her' thing, not a 'me' thing. I got no idea how it's coming along. If now's the time, we'll try anyway. Want lunch first? You look like you could use it.”

Macsen did _not_ want lunch first. He wanted to _run_, fast and far and take shelter with the most powerful friends he had. He had existing plans to visit Denerim anyway, which made it hideously risky to go _now_, but Orzammar was so _far_. He couldn't assume they didn't have his phylactery, and didn't want to lead them straight to Soldier's Peak. He couldn't lead the templars to the clans, either. And with that, the list of safe places to go without crossing an ocean ended.

Nisha's eyebrows lowered even more, somehow. “That's it. Lunch is now healer's orders. Sit.” She led him over to the bed rather than her only chair. “Also, I have wine.”

“I thought you said healing was a her thing and not a you thing.” Still, he sat on the bed and found the stack of books by the end unreasonably engrossing.

“She can see you. They both can. And we can't use words when our body is awake but I felt it upset them when you started shaking just now.”

Macsen hadn't known he was shaking. Why was he such a fucking mess? Yes, templars watching him again after so much time free of them terrified him, but he'd faced so many things far more frightening than mortal men. It wasn't like him to run, or to collapse. He rubbed his face, and felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It's fine,” Nisha said. “You're safe. If any shems come here, they won't get in fast. Everybody'll act confused and stupid and get in the way by being 'helpful.' We'll have warning.”

Macsen took a deep breath and held Nisha's hands a moment, grounding himself and trying to steady his heartbeat. “I'm sorry to bring this to you, and I'm sorry I'm not very heroic at the moment. I knew the Chantry wouldn't allow me to just be. My magic is only borderline acceptable, and being an elf, well. Warden Commander was one thing, but Arl and Chancellor? It's too much. They can't overlook it. I thought the Wardens might have my back, but they don't. I think they want to examine me, and I don't think it'll end well. I'm for a pyre or a cell if I can't run faster than _this_. Everything hurts, all the time. It's getting worse. I feel like I'm a century old.”

“You won't be running at all if you don't eat something and rest a little. When's the last time you slept?”

“Last night.” _Just not very well...  
_

She withdrew a hand and lightly bonked him on the head. “Don't you lie to me. You still suck at it. Maybe it flies with shems but your ears are such a tell. Let me get you that lunch.” She squeezed his hand and went to the fire. She dished up two wooden bowls of stew and poured one cup of wine and one of water. Chunks of brown bread went with the stew.

Macsen looked at the food Nisha handed him. The promised carrots and beans mingled with shallots, mushrooms, and a few greens. It smelled like thyme and bay leaves. It smelled wonderful, but somehow not like food at all. He hadn't been eating properly, come to think of it. Nothing sounded good. That wasn't his usual way, or it hadn't been. Cook Tamis said he had a “hollow leg”. When had that changed? He _felt_ hollow, but not like she meant. Nothing seemed like it would help. Nisha glared at him. Macsen dutifully ate.

When he had finished most of it, Nisha spoke again. “Where will you go? Do you know?”

He had a plan, but was it the best plan? Orzammar still beckoned. The Chantry had no foothold there at all. The dwarves would never let templars in the door. King Hilde Aeducan was scheduled to travel to Denerim soon, but if he hurried, he'd catch her, and she would have his back. Something about it felt _right. _But why, when Denerim was much closer and he knew for certain Alistair was there, and would defend him as well?  


“I think Denerim?” Macsen replied at last. “It's so hard to decide. You'd think I'd be used to running from multiple forces by now.”

“I don't think anybody's ever used to that. I guess time's wasting. Lie down, sleep if you can, and I'll duck out for a minute. Silvie will be with you soon.”

Macsen situated himself as ordered, careful to set all weapons and his boots to the side. Two of the three people who used the bed regularly would have his hide for doing otherwise, templars be damned. But how could he possibly  _sleep_ and what was the point? If he understood the plan, Silvie needed only to magically examine his body and as long as he stayed still while she poked at his muscles so he didn't fall on his face, all would be well.  


Or as well as it could be. Macsen draped his arm over his eyes. They were truly in uncharted territory. The ghost of his dead best friend possessed his former girlfriend with the help of a spirit of Charity. All three of them thought Silvie could heal the lasting harm Fort Drakon had left him with. The only reason Silvie thought she might have a chance was because thanks to shapeshifting, his body was accustomed to change. There was something poetic about a ghost healing old wounds...  


And then Macsen lost track of his thoughts. He closed his eyes. He felt a sharp wind rushing past; or perhaps through, his body. Cool hands cradled his neck, but he could feel touch elsewhere too, he thought. After a time, he didn't think he could open his eyes if he wanted to. He felt like he'd sunk underground. He supposed he'd sunk inside himself.

Wind, darkness, and the beating of gentle waves overtook everything. Macsen sank deeper until even those were gone.

*

“Sweetie? You can come back now.”

Where in the world was he? Macsen's eyes refused to open. He struggled to shove an arm out of a warm cocoon of quilts to rub at the corners until they obeyed. He opened his eyes to look at... not the drapery of his absurdly monstrous bed, but a lattice of some sort. It resolved into beams and thatching after he blinked a few times. The world seemed... oddly silent. He shifted, and the bed rustled. Straw... and finally he remembered where he was.

He looked over at his companion. She held her head higher, and her eyes had gone from the color of clear, black tea to cinnamon. “How do you feel?” she asked in a Marcher accent.

The answer deserved careful consideration. His headache was gone, and the world was so still, so peaceful. The ringing in his ears had gone wherever the headache went. He felt a little stiff and groggy. The dull ache in his shoulders and hips felt lessened. And he felt the slight burn behind his eyes that he got whenever confronted with Silvie.  


“Like I've slept for days, but better in general, I think? How did it go?”

“Fortuitously.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I'm very glad you came when you did.” Thunder crashed, lightning lit the darkened room, and a hard rain started up just then. She yelped.

“Well, that was ominous. What do you mean?”

“I was right about your tendons. Because you're used to changing shape, I was able to move them into a better position and hopefully they'll stay there. If you get regular muscle work, you should be basically all right, though you'll always be able to predict the weather. I recall you should have periodic access to massages.” She smirked.

“I'm glad you like Zev, but you're stalling.”

“I do wonder about you. Someone has to be a threat to you before you find them attractive, did you ever notice?”

Macsen sat up. “ _Stalling_ , Silvie.”  


She sighed. “Yes, you're right. It is remarkable, though, you must admit. But you see I... don't quite know how to put it. There was something changed about you. Badly changed. I know what you should feel and look like, inside and out, after all the times I healed you when you were younger. You didn't. You were almost done becoming... someone else entirely.”

Macsen leaned forward. His blood ran cold. That wasn't possible. “Silvie, that makes no sense.”

“I know! But it's true. Enough of the original you was left and with my memory... I can remember my entire life with absolute clarity, did you know? Charity crystallized everything when he caught me as I died. I can't forget anything. We've been working all afternoon and it's past midnight, now...”  


“WHAT?! So much time?”

“I know, sweetie! Nobody's been here, yet. But we put you back to normal. Whatever it was, it was wrong. It felt like it would cling to me, too, if it could. It was making you sick. And it was going to take you from us very soon.”

Macsen reached out with his Warden sense, and couldn't. “Not the way you think it was,” he whispered. “Silvie... I think... do you know what you've done?”

“Treated some sort of wasting illness, I suppose. I couldn't tell which one. It isn't as if we do this sort of thing every day.”

“No. I mean... sort of?” Macsen exhaled, hard. “I think you cured my taint.”

Her eyes widened. She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times. “You mean that was the  _blight?”  
_

“Yes. They inflict the taint on purpose, but a slower acting form. It takes magic, and several herbs that seem to battle it. Don't go spreading this, but that's what makes a Warden.”  


Her voice came out small, almost inaudible over the storm. “They did this to you  _on purpose_ .”  


“Yes.”

“It was _killing you_.”

“Maybe. But if they hadn't, the Blight might still be happening.”

“Macsen, it's... it isn't right. They just took you, and changed you like that?”

“They had to do it to _someone._ I'm trying to figure out a way to end the Blight once and for all, cure everyone with it and heal the land. Do you think you could do that again?”  


“Only if I healed them several dozen times because they made someone angry again and again when they were adolescents. I suppose I could try Alistair.”

If she could, oh, how it would help. But as for himself... Macsen needed to think for a moment. He was cured, if Silvie was right. It felt like she might be. He had forgotten how it felt not to have other voices rumbling in his head. It was a bargain he'd made willingly. And now? He wouldn't be able to sense darkspawn... or Wardens. But, it hadn't even been five years.  _Why? _ Why had he had so little  _time?  
_

A soft, patterned tap came to the door.

His companion lunged to her feet, and a dusting of blue light glinted around her. “That's the code,” said Nisha. “Time to fly. I'll meet you at Alistair's.”

“Yes,” Macsen shoved his boots on and strapped his weapons to his back. Denerim felt like the only right choice, now. He kissed Nisha's forehead. “See you there.”

The door crashed open just as a squirrel scampered easily out the window, up a pear tree, and  _away, _ fast as blinking.


End file.
